


Toxic embrace

by dafnesway



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Emotional Manipulation, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Murder, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Content, Suicidal Thoughts, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Victim Blaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-27 22:32:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16228655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dafnesway/pseuds/dafnesway
Summary: It wasn't supposed to happen the way it did. Nathan never thought it would happen the way it did.





	Toxic embrace

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [a pretty boy like you](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10702191) by [fairysylveon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairysylveon/pseuds/fairysylveon). 



> Ah, this is pretty heavy, I don't know why I made it. I hope I didn't butcher the horribly serious topic. Let me know what you think.

It was never supposed to happen the way it did. Nathan had just been looking for a way out. When his father was looking for one, he turned to alcohol, Nathan thought he might as well try it himself. He’d never drunk so much in his life, but it felt good, it burned his throat and his thoughts, it burned everything he did not want to feel.

He shouldn’t have called Mark. He should’ve gone home, even if it meant his father might- At least that was familiar, manageable. But he wasn’t thinking straight, wasn’t thinking of all the signals he was sending, wasn’t thinking that his jacket had a sleeve rolled down his shoulder and that he was laughing in a way that seemed like flirting. Mark picked him up and brought him to his home. He didn’t scold him like a teacher should. At the time, he had felt so happy, ignorantly blissful. Mark trusted him enough to bring him to his personal house, to let him stay the night, Mark didn’t told him off because he saw him as an equal, because he respected him. He even offered him another glass of wine (of course, of course his immaculate teacher, with his fancy watch and perfect suits, drank wine), chatted with him on the couch, and Nathan was so high up he didn’t notice the hand resting on his thigh, it didn’t sharpen his senses like it should’ve, if it had, he probably would’ve made it to the door.

“I can’t believe you got drunk on a Wednesday, Nathan, really,” Mark chuckled at him as he took another sip of his wine. He patted at Nathan’s leg. “And you called me, why’d you called me, Nathan?”

He should’ve read the implications of that question, of his answer. Instead he shrugged, still smiling, still unaware. “I trust you, Mr. Jefferson.”

“I’ve told you; you can call me Mark.”

“Mark” he repeated, yawned. “M’tired.”

Mark stood up, guided Nathan by his waist, below his shirt. “Let me show you to the bed.”

There were no stairs. Just a big, brown, elegant door, a door that would stay printed under his eyelids, details that your mind choses to remember, like the way Mark’s breath smelled or the color of the curtain of the bedroom. Blue, navy blue was the first thing he saw when they entered it, right before Mark unexpectedly turned him around and kissed him.

Oh.

Nathan’s mind struggled to catch up. He blinked in confusion as Mark pushed him into the sheets, laying on top of him, moving his mouth into Nathan’s neck, collarbones, biting. The pain made him shudder in surprise. It was familiar, terribly so. He pressed his hands against Mark’s shoulders, who gave an annoyed grunt.

“Mark-“ he gasped, fear starting to crawl into his system. “What are you doing?”

He felt a laugh against his skin. “Don’t play innocent on me, Nathan.”

Then he started unbuttoning Nathan’s shirt. “Get off, dude.” He tried to sound casual about it, threw in a nervous giggle for good measure, even when he felt like his skin was peeling off at the touch.

“Don’t be so shy,” Mark brought his fingers up to his face, caressed his cheek. Nathan wanted to puke. “You thought I wouldn’t notice you eyeing me all night?”

“I wasn’t, I wasn’t-“ his voice cracked. The conversation felt old, a broken record looping back to the start. Nathan knew exactly where it went.

“I never thought you’d be as bold as calling me like that. You hoped this would happen, didn’t you?” The last button came undone. Mark’s hands were cold on Nathan’s naked chest. He sucked in a breath. It felt so wrong, like his whole existence had bended, twisted in all the worst places.

“No,” he almost sobbed out the word. “I didn’t, I swear-“

Mark ignored him once more, acted like Nathan hadn’t said a thing, instead resting his attention on his jeans. “You even dressed for it, these are so tight.”

The more Mark talked, the more he felt like the walls and the ceiling closed in on him with realization. He’d brought this on himself, really, he should’ve known better, it wasn’t like he was new to it. “Stop,” he mumbled out, slurred. He wasn’t sure why he bothered. At this point, pleas never got him anywhere. “Please stop, don’t wanna’ do this…”

Mark shushed him, as if he was comforting him. It almost worked. His father had never been so gentle. His jeans finally came off. Nathan felt cold sweat run through his body.

"You’re so pretty, Nathan, you know that?” He’d thought there weren’t any compliment he wouldn’t like coming out of Mark’s mouth. 

He heard the sound of a belt coming undone. It sucked him out of reality, into another bed, someone else’s hands on his smaller frame, an excruciating pain hitting him over and over, a hand against his lips. Then there was Mark again, holding him close to his chest, his soft whispers contrasting Nathan’s heavy, panicked breathing.

“It’s okay, Nathan, relax.” He felt cold fingers sliding on the back side of his underwear, hissed when they started touching him, drawing circles, pushing in. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

He shook his head, again and again. “I don’t want to, don’t-“ he whimpered when Mark curled his finger inside, saw him smirk at the expression. It felt good, it felt good and Nathan hated it. At least with his father it had only hurt, at least in his memory it was clear that it was a terrible experience, but now he was panting in between fear and pleasure and Mark was pressing with his own body against his crotch and it felt so good, his whole being was ignited in artificial arousal.

Two fingers. He hated that his body, his stupid body was responding, and of course, Mark took the twitch on his crotch as encouragement. “See? I knew you wanted this.”

Three fingers. Nathan pushed sluggishly on Mark’s shoulders, his mind was so dizzy, it was so much worse now that he was laying down, he felt like he couldn’t properly control any of his limbs. It was only when he felt his underwear being taken away, when Mark was smearing something on his own member and lining up close to him that he snapped, the paralyzing terror morphing into anger.

This couldn’t happen again. It couldn’t, _it_ _couldn’t_. He took advantage of Mark’s temporary distraction to kick his legs into his stomach. He was so satisfied to hear the surprised, pained grunt he made.

“You little bitch-“

He rolled over on the bed, standing up to run for the door, but the floor titled sideways, and before he could fall Mark took him from behind, slammed him against the bed once more, this time right on the edge, using all of his weight to press him on his stomach. No, no, no, he had to stop it, somehow. He shouted into the sheets, tried to use his arms to propel forward, but then they were gripped from the wrists, forcefully held against himself.

“You _stupid, fucking cunt,_ stay still.”

He sobbed, thrashing his body uselessly. There wasn’t any point to it, he was drunk, Mark had almost a full head on his height, he was nineteen years older. There was not point. “Please don’t, please, stop, please, _please_ -”

Mark tightened his hold on him. He felt nails embedding themselves on his skin. “Shut the fuck up, Nathan.”

Then there was that pain again.  
He screamed. It didn’t hurt like it did the other times, probably didn’t draw blood, but it was rough nonetheless, without any warning, too fast for his body to adjust to it.

Nathan tried to move, to push him away, to free his hands, and got absolutely nowhere. The more time went by the more he felt an overwhelming dread take over him. No point to fight. No point to struggle. His mind desperately latched into any passing thoughts. What he had for breakfast, if it would rain later on the morning, the movie he saw three days ago. By the time one of his wrist was freed, he was entirely spaced out, staring at the blue navy of the curtains.

His father never made him come along with him.

He shivered at the touch, his mind protested at being dragged back into his own body, but there was nothing he could do. There was a familiar warmth on the base of his stomach, and then-

Mark made a satisfied grunt from behind him, and let go of his wrists. Nathan didn’t try to retaliate, he was suddenly so tired, he just wanted to sleep.

“You can take the bed, Nate.”

He heard the door being opened and closed again. It was the first time Mark had called him that.

For some reason, he hadn’t wanted him to leave.

 

They never mentioned what happened. Nathan never brought it up, never dared to, he didn’t tell his father to stop the tutoring sessions, he didn’t tell the school counselor. Mark never reacted whenever Nathan flinched away from touch. It had been his fault anyway. He had called him while drunk. He had wore tight jeans. He had flirted with him. He’d brought it upon himself.

It was during the next few weeks, when Mark turned cold, distant, didn’t give him all the compliments he used to, didn’t call him Nate again, that Nathan found he was far more terrified of being left alone, of spending nights curled in the bathroom floor, thinking about it but too scared to actually swallow all the pills on his hand.

It was during the next few weeks that he found himself fighting to get Mark’s attention back, that he found himself back into his house, sitting on his lap, crying, begging, begging for him to _please_ , please take him again, _please_ , he’ll do anything, _anything_.

A part of him knew this to be wrong, because he didn’t want it then, and he didn’t want it now, he didn’t want sex; he wanted attention, he wanted reassurance, company, validation, but maybe Mark’s hand closing in on his throat and leaving bruises he would have to cover later with a scarf or turtleneck, maybe Mark roughly pinning him and biting him and calling him Nate afterwards, with a little affectionate tone, was the closest thing he would get.

That day was when Mark, with a looming shadow obscuring his eyes, asked him, _do you trust me?_ And Nathan, against his own judgment, said yes, because he wanted to trust him, needed to trust him, so Mark leaned in on his ear, hot breath tickling his skin, and said _, I need you to ask your father for some things_.

It was never supposed to happen the way it did. Nathan never imagined it would come to that, that it would come to Rachel Amber laying on the floor of the studio and Jefferson yelling at him, telling him he gave him the wrong dose, even though Nathan could remember measuring it at least twice, but Rachel was dead and Jefferson was never wrong. He never imagined it would come to him whimpering underneath bright lights, with Jefferson’s face behind a camera, telling him he looked _perfect, absolutely perfect._ He never imagined he would be comparing being held against a couch with his eyes unable to focus on anything and his limbs heavy and relaxed, to screaming in a bedroom, begging, panting, body tensing, untensing. It was always better when he was drugged, Jefferson seemed to agree with him.

He never thought it would come to him crying in the Dark Room, hiding under a table, even though it was useless, spilling all his secrets into the phone, into Max Caulfield’s voicemail, waiting for Jefferson to enter the door and-

**Author's Note:**

> A little clarification. I'm implying Nathan didn't actually kill Rachel, but was led to believe he did.


End file.
